02 Sep Growing through #BreastCancer : 7 Lessons for Us All
"I'm sorry to say, it is cancer," the radiologist said, less than 24 hours after my breast biopsy, just 7 weeks ago today. If I'm being honest, deep down, I already knew.
I knew when the radiologist and nurses came in and were a little too nice and concerned after my mammogram/ultrasound follow up to my negative biopsy last year. I knew when he said, "I'd like to get you in for a biopsy as soon as possible." I knew the next morning when, before my biopsy, I'd prayed, "Father, if it is possible to not have to face this trial, please let it pass me by." I knew even more so when I felt the answer, "Yes, this is going to happen. But yes, you are prepared and yes, you are in My hands."
I knew for sure the next morning when my daughter dreamt I'd died and came in crying, which suddenly brought back the radiologist's words I'd forgotten, "starburst pattern." Googling it only confirmed what I already knew: "one of the best ways to spot a malignancy in a mammogram." I broke down, sobbing, knowing for sure, and had finally calmed down when the phone rang and the radiologist confirmed it all: breast cancer.
I’ve been a good girl, getting yearly mammograms since I was 27. My mother had her first breast cancer diagnosis at 37. I was 15 when she was diagnosed, went through a lumpectomy, and survived chemotherapy.
I didn’t understand all that was happening back then. Even though my Papa had died of cancer at age 63, when I was just 10, this was my first up-close experience. All I knew was I needed to help more around the house, I needed to watch my five younger siblings and be there for them, I needed to support my mom and dad. I feared my mom would die. I believed I would have to stay home from college to care for my younger siblings if she did.
I didn’t really understand the ups and downs and pains and struggles of cancer until a year later, when my youngest sister, McLean, "Miki', was diagnosed with a Wilm’s Tumor, cancer of the kidneys, at age 6 ½. I was with her as she went into surgery with only a 20% chance of survival, saying, “Either I’ll wake up and see you, Mom, or I’ll wake up and see Jesus.” She was the bravest person I’ve ever known. I was with her through treatments when my mom and dad couldn’t be there, watching her struggle, feeling her pain, and theirs. I was with her on vacation when she had to be hospitalized, staying overnight so my parents could get a break. I was 16 and 17. I was 18 when she died, just weeks after her eighth birthday. This Saturday is the 26th anniversary of her death.
My little sister, McLean (or Miki-7) and me (18) at Disneyworld for her "Make-a-Wish" vacation. Such a fun family trip, only months before she died of cancer.
I’ve always taken cancer seriously, especially after losing even more family members and friends to its deadly grasp. My mother’s aunt died of breast cancer. My beloved grandpa died of cancer. My brother-in-law, Rob, died of melanoma, just two months before his love, my sister, died of an overdose of Tylenol and Alcohol. We are raising their two children, now our sons. My dear father-in-law died of cancer of the liver less than two years later. And after losing my dearest friend, Jody, to depression and suicide, and another friend, Naomi, to the same, just last year my dear friend, Minae, lost her battle with pancreatic cancer, just five months after she was diagnosed.
With my dear friend, Minae, just after her son left for his mission, just weeks before she died. One of the most courageous things I've ever witnessed.
Facing cancer with my mother, and sister, and brother-in-law, and father-in-law, and friend led me to believe that I knew something of the true experience of battling cancer. I'd seen their struggles and felt their pain; I believed I knew something of what it must be like. I didn't. Not really. I knew what MY experience of their experience was like, but I didn't comprehend how hard it is to face one's OWN experience of cancer.
Facing my own “cancer” diagnosis is not only physically challenging and mentally and emotionally exhausting from all I'm learning and the surgeries and the treatment planning and all of it. It also brings back all these other losses, the struggles, the pain, and the grief.
Oh, the grief! That’s what hearing, “I’m sorry to say, it is cancer,” felt like the most: loss, once again. Grief, once again.
Power posing the night before my double mastectomy.
I’ve learned a lot...
In the past 7 weeks since I heard those words, and even more so in the past 6 weeks since I had my double mastectomy, I've learned personal lessons, and lessons to be shared:
1) I’ve learned that breast cancer diagnoses are varied, as are all cancer diagnoses, and prognoses and treatment plans are even more so. We should never assume we "know" what anyone is going through, or what they should or should not do or feel, because we simply don't.
2) I’ve learned that one of the hardest parts of the whole process is waiting, not knowing, wondering, fearing. What if we could be with others in their waiting and fearing? How much stronger they, and we, would be!
3) I’ve learned that I need the love and support of others so much more than I ever could have imagined. I’ve learned that I have that support, and that I’m more deeply grateful than anyone could ever possibly know. What if we could each reach out to one person in need of love and support today?
4) I've learned that cancer is lonelier than I'd ever imagined, even with support and love. It's an indescribable experience that can't fully be shared. It's an experience you wouldn't want others to have to share. And yet, as we reach out in love and listen and hold space for those going through it, what a gift we offer!
5) I've learned that not everyone handles the "c-word" very appropriately or well, that friendships and relationships change and "sift," just as they do with a death or divorce or major loss. It's just the way it is: some people know what to do or say, and do or say it, and others? Well, they just don't. But there are new relationships and bonds to be made even as the old fall away. What an opportunity we miss when we fail to just do or say something!
6) I've learned the essential importance of being proactive in your own healthcare, of getting your screenings and doing your doctor visits. Also, the importance of getting genetic testing completed if there's a family history. I learned just five weeks ago that I am BRCA1 positive, and knowing this not only has empowered my decision-making, it's empowered my family and my own children to get tested so they can prevent cancer in their futures. Bottom Line: Get your mammograms, genetic testing, screenings, etc done TODAY! (I'll write more about all of these in an upcoming post).
7) I've learned that that answer I received the morning of my biopsy was not a fluke. I am battling courageously, I know I somehow have been prepared to do this, and I am not alone. I am never alone. My God is with me always, not only leading and loving me through but growing me into something greater, someone I never dreamed I could be.
With my incredible surgeon, Dr. Beth Dupree, before my #doublemastectomy.
Join me on my journey...
I have already been sharing my #breastcancerwarrior journey daily on Instagram and Facebook, and I will continue to be sharing it, in writing, here, too. I hope more than anything you'll choose to become part of my "warrior team" and join me on my journey.
Subscribe to new posts, and follow me on Instagram, Facebook, and/or YouTube. Together, we can prevent, treat, and heal from cancer and all else that comes with it. Even more so, we can become that something or someone greater, and yes, we can, and will once again flourish, too.